


They Call it Retribution

by CaesariDiffidimus



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Loki Needs a Hug, M/M, New Asgard, PTSD, Physical Abuse, Poor Loki, Prisoner Loki, Pro Steve Rogers, Sort Of, Thor tried, Tony is a dick, asgardians are dicks too, bucky barns is a mf sweetheart, everyones a dick, geneva convention? whats that?, stephen strange is a dick, team steve rogers, thus far only mentions warriors three and sif, ton is an asshole
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-07 19:44:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15915009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaesariDiffidimus/pseuds/CaesariDiffidimus
Summary: To secure the permanent safety of New Asgard on earth Thor has to make some difficult sacrifices, to Loki's demise they involve him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I never finish stories, my bad haha but I wrote this in one sitting and couldn't NOT post it.
> 
> Also def did not edit this one.

 Loki quickly took in his surroundings. Much of New York was rather cold, and not just because it was mid-October. The place, in and of itself bore little warmth, especially to outsiders—and Loki was just that. The Asgardians, led by Thor, came to earth in hopes of settling there; creating a new Asgard, a new life for those of whom survived. Being as their living arrangements were inside a dimension of Loki's creation, neither New York city, nor the American government were bothered by their immigrating. Or rather... all save for Loki, of whom was ostracized by the Avengers at large.

   Thor had advised Loki to stay within their dimension's borders, but such a curious soul he was, he couldn't help but wander. Rounding a corner, he watched as children played by a stoop,

siblings, most like, as they looked quite similar, he thought. The sentiment reminded him of he and Thor as children, how much they didn't look alike--and how much no one ever let him forget it. His gaze changed from the two children to look across the crowd. He meant only to better observe his surroundings, but he was furthermore glad he did because locked on him were the eyes of one Tony Stark; and he looked a mixture of shocked, and absolutely livid. Loki's heart leapt into his throat, successfully choking off his air. hist stomached tightened and twisted painfully. He ducked his head but it was too late, he'd been made.

   At first, he could not make himself move, but once Tony began pushing his way through the crowd, eyes locked on Loki, his sense of panic and urgency returned to him. He stumbled backward, nearly tripping over the roadside edge of the sidewalk. His heart thumped in his chest so loudly he could feel and hear the pulse of blood in his ears. His vision was a darkening tunnel, hindering him yet further. Before him was an alley which curved but he could see dim light at the end, suggesting it had some sort of exit way, as the building were too tall to let any light in from above. Hurriedly he sped down the alley, nearly tripping over loose bricks, and strewn garbage, his depth perception was skewed and he bumped sharply into 2 garbage dumpsters before he got to the endo of the alley, or nearly the end anyhow. Before he could make it a step further the hissing of Tony's hand blaster whirred, and a sharp pain enveloped Loki's torso and shoulder. He lost balance but didn't fall, though he did ultimately decide to stop and face Stark, perhaps if he could talk to the man he could make him understand.

   Loki leaned on the dumpster beside him, out of breath, and in pain. Now facing Tony, he could see a familiar look in the other man's eye, a look of hatred, manic, unabashed loathing, and anger. Loki's chest rose and fell, intaking air so rapidly it made him feel light-headed.

   "Stark, please listen," he begged earnestly, holding out his hands in placation.

   Tony shook his head. "Mm, I don't think so, Rock of Ages. I told your brother if you leave Fairyland it's open season."

   Loki shook his head frantically, but no words came out of his mouth.

   Tony was in nearly nose to nose with him when he landed the first punch. Loki stumbled backward. He expected to fall to the ground, or hit a wall, but instead he felt the warm, firm body of another human. A small trickle of relief cooled his throat, but only momentarily, for when he turned around he saw that it was none other than Clint Barton, the Avenger's archer.

Loki whimpered before he could stop himself. The corner of Clint's mouth tugged to dimple his cheek, a smooth, sardonic smirk. "Nice to see you again, Loki." he said, hands firmly holding

Loki's arms to his sides. With an unreadable expression on his face Clint headbutt Loki so hard he saw stars and was sure his nose was broken.

   "Please," Loki croaked out, blood running thickly over his mouth now.

   Tony clicked his tongue patronizingly. "Please, he says," Tony laughed.

   Clint smiled a malicious smile, pushing Loki backward, hard, into Tony. The second he hit into Tony a searing pain shot up his back as a punch landed on his kidneys. "Let's play a game,

Loki," Tony said through gritted teeth, wrapping an armored arm around Loki's neck. He hadn't noticed the shorter man assemble his alloy suit, but by the somewhat soft chest that pressed

against him he assumed only the man's arm was remotely armored.

   Loki still had his magical abilities, of course, only it was deterred by the binding spell Odin drew between he and his brother. Thor's stipulation had been that he may never use his

magic against the Avengers, but he may use it in self-defense. Obviously, this left him in a quandary, and though he tried to summon his magic, it did not come to him. Loki kicked out at the

archer that closed in on him, but his desperate attempt was feeble and the other man easily evaded him.

   "The first game is called 'stop being a little bitch', bitch," Hawkeye sneered, punching Loki hard in the stomach, so hard in fact, that he could taste bile in the back of his throat.

Another punch in the stomach had him doubled over, held up only by Tony's pure will to do so. Another punch, this time in the face, followed quickly by a second and third.

   Tony dropped the god to the ground unceremoniously. Loki kept his head down but tried to move backward into the wall beside him as if he could disappear into the brick and mortar entirely. His hand pressed to the pavement in order to steady himself, but was met with a heavy boot smashing it, grinding it into the asphalt. Loki howled and tried to yank his hand free,

no matter that it only made the pain worse. Tony let him go only to bring his foot up and kick Loki in the gut, and once more in the face. Only when Loki was lying motionless against the wall did the two leave, but not before spitting on him triumphantly.

 

When Loki arrived back at the New Asgard compound, he took care to avoid his elder brother, and now, sitting in front of a vanity mirror, he saw the complete damage of what the two Avengers had done. This wasn't the first time he'd be physically assaulted, however. As a child he was teased relentlessly for being too skinny, for having too dark of hair, for being so poor in a fight. As a teenager the teasing became physical, and much of Asgard's young warriors disliked this diversity amongst them, they disliked that he was different, that he practiced magic (a woman's trade), that he talked differently, and walked differently than they did. Loki had tried to be like them, try to do as they wanted-- as his family wanted-- but it was in vain, nothing he did altered how he looked, how he acted, or the ideas in his head. Thor, and his comrades, for many years had been the worst of the bullies, though much has changed now, Loki thought it would always be so, and his brother would always hate him, just as his father did--just as all of Asgard did. As teenagers, and as young men, Thor had thought himself superior tot Loki, and made certain the younger knew it. His shield brothers, the Warriors Three, bore him no reprieve beside Thor, as they were just as bad. Hogun often only watched, but Fenrir not only participated, but instigated. Loki avoided all of them, even the Lady Sif, like the black plague. But upon Thor's return from his banishment on Midgard, Loki had noticed a distinct difference to the man. He had softened, become more compassionate, quieter, as if he were truly listening--all traits he most assuredly did not have before. But at the moment it all felt too late for their relationship to mend. Loki had internally sunk so deep in his own self-loathing and general distrust of other people, that not even his brother, of whom he always wished would like him, could now break through that barrier. They had bonded some on Sakaar, and the trip to Earth, but still that veil of distrust was present.

   Thor had come to his room twice that night asking after his mood and health, but Loki had told him he was fine, and merely studying spell. Loki was an introvert by nature, and spent much of his time studying, so Thor thought nothing of it and went on his way, taking care of various Asgardian issues no doubt.

   Loki watched his reflection in the mirror for some time. He tried not to move too much as his ribs were aching, and the sharp pain caused him to be nauseous. His eye was swollen nearly shut, lip swollen, cheek busted, he concluded that several ribs, and a couple fingers may be broken, or at the very least fractured. He had felt pure, unadulterated fear earlier, a complete encompassing fear which he had not felt since his youth. He had feared he would die, that they would surely kill him for what he had done to them, and now he feared that in the moment, when they were beating him, that a small, but suffocating part of him, was glad at the thought--glad that he might die, and that all of this, this life, his life, might finally be over. But here he was, well enough, and staring at himself in a mirror. He was alone, by choice this time, but it didn't feel as though it were by choice, it felt like once again he must hide away so that others may get on with their lives.

   A knock at the door shook him violently out of his wallowing.

   "Leave me be, Thor," he replied, not unkindly.

   "It is not Thor," same a familiar voice, though indeed not Thor's.

   Heimdall.

   A knot tightened in his stomach. Loki summoned a weak guise over the wounds on his face, unable to manage more, and hoped the Eye of Asgard would not see through it. Unlike with Thor, Loki feared retribution if Heimdall was left unrecieved at his door. Quickly as he could manage he limped to the door and opened it, glancing only once at Heimdall before ducking his head and avoiding eye contact all together.

   "Loki," he said after a short, unnerving silence.

   A dark hand jutted out toward Loki and he flinched, taking a step back, away from the other man. But it was not out of his reach, because the hand pressed a single finger tot Loki's forehead, and to his disgruntlement, he could feel his magic dissipating until it was all together gone. The finger left his forehead, and his shoulders slumped in defeat.

   Heimdall made a low disapproving sound in the back of his throat. "Asgard's foundations on earth are built upon sand, Loki, and you would go out into their streets and antagonize them?"

   Loki lifted his head to protest but stopped when he saw the look in the Seer's eyes. Heimdall hated Loki, always had, and now in front of him Loki could see how much, but more than that, in his eyes Loki could not only see hatred, but could see assumption--he assumed Loki would do something wrong and was merely waiting for it. But Loki hadn't done anything terribly wrong. He was told not to venture outside New Asgard, that is true, and yes he broke that rule, but he hadn't harmed anyone, and he hadn't intended to, surely Heimdall knew that.

   Loki dropped his gaze once more, ducking his head to appear smaller.

   There was silence for a moment.

   "I must inform Thor."

   "Please, I-I rather he not know," Loki said without lifting his head.

   "Why?"

   He chewed on the inside of his lip nervously, hoping the other man could not see. "Thor...Thor would blame his comrades. Just... I fear he would fight with them, and further delay more important issues here in New Asgard." His voice was so much smaller than it had been in recent years--he was so much smaller. He had lost some weight and perhaps now looked unhealthy, but it was more than his aesthetics, he, as a person--as a man--was smaller. He was anxious all the time, nervous, fearful, needed after things that he not only hadn't thought about in thousands of years, but hadn’t' even needed in just as much time.

   "You don't want to tell the king, because you fear he will not care, or worse, you fear he will approve," Heimdall’s voice was low and hard.

   Loki said nothing.

   "I will not inform the King, but only because you were, in partial, correct in that it will distract him from true issues at hand." With that he was gone, gold cape flitting behind him.

   Loki closed the door and rested his head against the wood. He was tired, so very, horribly tired.

 

Five days later a note was slid under his door in the early hours of the morning. He had scarcely been out of his room, much less opened the door for fear of being seen, so he was glad of the informal passing of the message. The note informed him that he was to accompany his brother outside the perimeters of the compound and was to do so in one hour. A sinking feeling pulling at Loki, wrapping him in the cool, prickling sensation that something was wrong. Why would Thor wish to take him out of here? Were they to meet someone? Who? Was it someone who hated Loki? Had Thor found out about that day? About the attack? Whose side of the story had he heard? Did they tell the truth? His chest inflated and compressed so rapidly that his lungs burned, and his vision narrowed. He cursed himself for ever leaving New Asgard that day.

   He quickly dressed and headed toward the throne room where his brother was surely sitting making executive decisions after a vote. Few people were in the halls but those who were ignored his presence. Though he had fought Hela at the end, it ultimately hadn't mattered: it hadn't changed how the Asgardians saw him. He walked briskly, his head down, until he got to his destination. Opening the door he saw that his brother was indeed there, and that he held council with Heimdall, and Bruce Banner.

   "Brother!" Thor bellowed, making Loki jump.

   Loki made his way toward him, glancing once at Heimdall only to see that dismissive hatred was still prevalent in his eyes, and once at Bruce, who looked cautious and concerned. Thor looked as jolly as ever, a wide toothy grin on his tanned face.

   "Brother, good news, we have found some useful for you to do!" Thor said cheerfully.

   Loki nodded slowly, a frown furrowing on his brow, understanding. "Am I...Just, have I not been useful here?" his voice was small and weak. He hated it, but nothing he did returned him to the man he was before.

   Bruce frowned, and Heimdall’s eyes narrowed even further.

   Thor shrugged, not catching on to his brother's insecurities, or the importance of his approval. He clapped Loki on the shoulder and the younger man cringed. "Of course, you are, but we need you elsewhere!"

   Loki nodded.

   Thor smiled at him and squeezed his shoulder affectionately. "You are to aid the Midgardian wizard. He asks that you heal people on his quests. He assures me this will aid in helping you alter Midgard's perception of you: rectify your misdeeds on their planet." His brother was beaming with self-gratitude.

   Loki felt hot tears sting his eyes but he refused to let them fall.

   "And what do you get in return?" Loki said, barely above a whisper.

   "Loki..." Thor began, his voice low, hurt resident in his tone.

   "What do you get in return?" he repeated, a bit louder now.

   "Citizenship on this planet, safety, and autonomy from their governments, and a voice in their world council." It was Heimdall who answered. His voice was loud and victorious, it made Loki cringe.

   They had traded him. They had traded him like a stock animal, like an object, a toy they had grown bored with. His brother--Thor had pawned him off as if he were nothing. Midgard's government surely wished to torture and dissect him, and his brother had given him to them in trade more a moments peace and quiet. Was he so terrible? He had tried these last months, he tried to do everything Thor asked of him, he said thank you and treated everyone gruesome chore as if it were a gift of gold and rubies, and he had done it so his elder brother would think him something more than a monster--but it hadn't worked.

   Loki nodded once and said no more. If his brother did not want him, no one would, so there was truly no point in fighting this. This was his punishment, not just for attacking New York, but for doing everything wrong his entire life--for being wrong. He had been the cause of so much strife and this was his retribution.

 

Thor transported through an orange flickering portal, Loki close behind him, into a small formal library, presumably in Dr. Strange's own home. Thor greeted the good doctor and stepped to the side to reveal that he had brought the man's gift. Loki made brief eye contact with Strange, but his attention was quickly drawn to another man standing in the room. With his arms crossed over his glowing chest, Tony Stark stood in the corner beside Strange, his stance wide and defensive. Loki's gaze dropped quickly, eyes wide. He hadn't anticipated the man being here, but more than that, he hadn't anticipated feeling this much unchecked fear. His entire body trembled and he thought he might be sick on the doctor's waxed wooden floor.

   "My brother," Thor introduced his gift, giving the younger Odinson an unceremonious shove forward. "I have much to look after back home, I will see you all soon!"

   Loki reached a hand back to try and touch his brother before he departed but he was already gone. He looked over his shoulder to confirm, and dread filled him when he could no longer see his elder brother, nor the portal he exited through. When he turned back toward the room at large, Dr Strange was nearly in his face, astutely analyzing him. Loki jumped, nearly yelping in surprise, at the unexpected proximity.

   "It's late, I don't want to talk about any of this right now," Strange began, sighing dismissively. "Tony will show you to your room."

   "No!" Loki said before he could stop himself, his eyes wide with fear. Strange perked up at that, straightening his back, and getting closer to Loki's face. The norseman succumbed to the show of dominance and coward.

   Nothing more was said before Strange made a portal and exited the room.

   Tony smiled mischievously at him, pushing himself up off the wall where he was leaning. "See you kept some of my gifts," he said, nodding his head at the bruises on Loki's face. He took a couple steps toward him. "Bet the bruises under uh..." he waved a limp wristed hand in the general direction of Loki's chest, "under all that are real pretty," Tony laughed. Loki squeezed his eyes shut when the man walked closer toward him. Suddenly a hand was pulling up his shirt, and a second was cupping his ribs. "Got all the shades of purple on there," the other man said, now only inches from Loki's face. Loki tensed at his touch and tried to pull away, but was only met with a punch to his stomach. Loki doubled over, sputtering. Even through the pain he couldn't help but feel such guilt and wonder what he had done to make his brother feel compelled to approve this trade. He had thought they were getting on well, that things were changing, that he could trust him, he had thought... he didn't know what he had thought anymore. Maybe he was so blinded by his own needs that he hadn't seen what was right in front of him.

   A hard smack on the face pulled him from his thoughts. "Jesus you're retarded and crazy. I said your name like 4 fucking times." Tony shoved him toward the door. They walked for some time down several pathways and hallways, so many, in fact, that Loki thought Tony was trying to confuse him, perhaps so the god wouldn't know the way out, or perhaps Tony was the one who was lost. Suddenly, Tony stopped in front of a plain wooden door, and pressed his hand against the middle of the door, until a loud clicking sound notified them of the door's unlocking. The shorter man grabbed Loki about the neck and shoved him into the dark room.

   "Enjoy, Snowflake!" he jeered, before slamming the door closed.

   The room was entirely black. Loki slowly stood, and again, ever so slowly, made his way forward until he found the door--only it wasn't a door, it was a wall. How odd, he had been sure the door would be there. Slowly he made his way around the room dragging his hand across the wall all the while. He turned four times over the four walls of the small room but found no door. Magic, he presumed. He also, disappointingly, though not surprisingly, found no furniture, not even a chair. Using the last morsel of his emotional strength he squelched the urge to cry, and pressed his back against the cool wall, sliding down it until he found himself in a curled heap on the floor.

  

It could have been several hours, or several days, after sometime Loki could no longer tell. Not even a sliver of light made its way into that dark, small room. The lack there of made the man feel ill, as he had manifested a fear for darkness post his fall into Yggdrasil’s void. He had tried to summon light himself from his own reserves but the action was stopped, quelled, as if the room itself dampened his abilities. He feared the Midgardian sorcery could see him, even though the darkness, and would observe his every breath, so though his panic squeezed his chest like a vice, he forced himself to breathe evenly--to not show his weakness, for they would surely use it against him. Or perhaps they already knew, perhaps they did, and that's why they kept him in this black place.

   Suddenly the door which was there before opened once more, the light stabbed into the room quickly, scattering wildly until it hit every wall and every corner. Loki flinched back violently from where he sat, and hid his face behind crossed arms, warding off the blinding golden rays. A dark figure stood in the doorway but did not make to speak, he only stepped toward the crouched man and dragged him up by his shirt and arm. Loki made no noise of protest, complying as best he could, to avoid this assailant’s wrath.

   He was half dragged down the halls and through the various rooms until they stepped through a doorless entryway into an open room flanked by two great staircases. The walls were tall and fast and made of rich wood; they smelled of fire and stories and Loki couldn't help but partly appreciated them as they stood there. Suddenly one of the Wizard's portals opened up to reveal a battlefield of steel and rubble. The man loosened his grip on Loki's shirt only to use the hand to shove him through the portal, unnecessarily so, for the stranger walked cautiously through the portal just after him. Loki stumbled over rebar and general unorganized destruction and fell onto his hands and knees. Something sharp pierced his hand, but he said nothing, wiping the blood on his pantleg as he stood clumsily.

   The man that had delivered him here was now leaving without a word, walking off towards something seemingly more important, and Dr. Strange, flamboyant cape whipping behind him, was walking toward him a determination in his eye that made Loki's stomach twist. Loki watched the doctor wearily, taking an offensive step backward when the man came to finally stand in front of him. "We have soldiers and civilians alike in need of healing," Strange said dryly. The Midgardian watched Loki for a moment, which Loki thought to be a waste of time, if healing others was of any importance at all to him, why waste time, but watch he did, and under his scrutinizing gaze Loki felt small and weak and stupid.

   Loki ducked his hand, nervously rubbing his arm with his other hand. "Where are the patients?"

   Strange clenched his jaw several times before waving him toward a mostly ruined building. Loki couldn't tell if the man was agitated or not, he shouldn't think he was, Loki hadn't done anything to annoy or anger him. Strange made his way toward the building, Loki in tow. Where the good doctor was graceful and determined as he sauntered confidently toward the field hospital, Loki was slumped and nervous, eyes darting this way and that, ever watching.

   Loki saw no familiar faces on their walk to the hospital, but once they got there the Midgardian's Captain was there in his red and white ensemble. They briefly made eye contact, and Loki would have assumed there would be disdain in his eyes upon seeing him but there was none, the Captain looked almost indifferent to his presence.

   When they arrived at the makeshift infirmary Loki quickly counted the patience, noting that someone had set up some semblance of field triage already, which he was thankful for.

   "Go," Strange grunted, shoving Loki forward harshly.

   Those who were conscious watched the god warily. Loki wrung his hands to relieve his anxiety and knelt by the first wounded person he saw. A nagging worry within him expected the man to know his face, know who he was, remember the battle of New York, and recoil from his touch--but the man did no such thing, he likely didn't know Loki's face at all, or if he did he didn't let on. As time went on and he healed more and more people his energy was depleting quickly, he could barely manage to stand, or talk at all--not that many wished to talk with him. Loki healed him and 22 other injured before he came upon the Captain once more. Rogers greeted Strange verbally, and merely nodded toward Loki in acknowledgement. Beside the kneeling Captain was another soldier, one Loki did not recognize. This man was shorter than Rogers, pale skin, but dark hair, and long; unkempt, rather unlike the Captain entirely. The poor man was bleeding profusely from his abdomen, or at least he had been since three towels were pressed tightly to his stomach, all three soaked a dark, ominous red. The wound looked grave, and the man looked to the in a lot of pain. Regretfully, and with much fear, Loki realized he didn't have the neither the Seidr, nor the energy necessary to heal this man.

   Loki glanced sidelong at Strange, warily. "I-I don't think I can," he said, regretting how much his voice shook.

   "Do it, now," Strange's voice was low, and vibrated threateningly in Loki's chest.

   The fallen god chewed on the inside of his lip, his gaze dropping to investigate his hands. "Please," his voice broke. "My magic is depleted to nothing, I... there’s nothing left to heal him with."

   Strange's deformed hand came upon the back of his neck like an iron cuff, squeezing painfully, and pushing him to the ground until he was kneeling before the wounded man, and the Captain. Loki flicked his eyes at Rogers, and to his relief, the man actually looked forlorn, and saddened, if one could believe it. Loki quickly assured himself that this expression had been on the man's face since they arrived, and it was for his good friend, not he, the ugly monster of Asgard.

   "Now." Strange said in his ear.

   Loki could feel hot tears of exhaustion and fear prick at his eyes. His hands removed the towels, dragging them away haphazardly until the wound was in view. It was gruesome, he couldn't tell what kind of weapon made it, but whatever it was, it had been horrible. Loki hovered his hands over the exposed flesh, and a pale green smoke lazily orbited the wound, usually his Seidr's aura was a rich emerald color, but now that it was weak it could barely be seen at all.

   There was no viewable progress in the wounds healing. Suddenly Loki stopped, plopping his hands down in his lap in defeat before turning toward Dr. Strange. "It's of no use, I'm sorry, I can't... I don't have enough energy left," Loki nearly wept.

   Strange pursed his lips thoughtfully before backhanding Loki hard across the face.

   "Stephen!" The Captain chastised.

   The doctor ignored his teammate and grabbed Loki roughly by the shirt and hauled him up. "Do it," he hissed.

   Loki shook his head desperately. "It will kill me," Loki whispered, knowing the doctor would not care.

   "Do it."

   He dropped Loki to the ground in a crumpled mess. The mess nervously turned back to the dark-haired patient, reaching out his hands once more. He thought the man would surely be unconscious by now, but when he looked up at his pained face the man gave him a small, reassuring smile, as if to encourage him. Taken aback, Loki quickly broke the eye contact and shifted his gaze back to the work on hand.

   This time when he summoned his Seidr he pushed hard, hard enough to make his nose and ears bleed, every scrap, every residue left of Seidr he summoned, even if it meant clawing within himself to get it. He heard someone talking but their voice sounded as if it were under water. He pulled at the Seidr that burrowed in deep recesses of his mind, and used it up, used everything up until suddenly the world was black, so blissfully black.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drabble mostly. Bucky has a revelation. Tony's still a dick. Steve is a nice guy, per usual. And Loki might be reaching a new elite level of anxiety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again I didn't edit any of this, sorry not sorry, I'm barely able to write the chapter due to severe laziness, I definitely am not going to edit it lmao

 

When Loki awoke it was dark once more, he knew he was alive, but the world around him was black. His chest restricted painfully as panic pooled inside him. But slowly more senses came back, and he opened his eyes to a dim, gray world, shadowed by destruction, but thankfully not black. His muscles and bones ached as if he had run a thousand miles, his head was hammering with a tumultuous migraine, what little light there was agitating it greatly, and his mouth was dry, making swallowing painful.

   He groaned and tried to turn away from the light, but something was restricting his hand from moving. The panic returned and at first he feared they chained him to the floor, or whatever he was sleeping on, but when he opened his eyes further he saw that the dark haired man from before was sleeping on the chair beside him, his arm outstretch and his hand in Loki’s. He swallowed painfully, watching the stranger cautiously, but not without curiosity.

   His movements must have jostled the other man awake because he woke with a start, nearly falling from his position on the seat, and blinked his sleep away before looking down at the god and frowning thoughtfully. “You’re awake,” he said, his voice low and husky, as if it got little use.

   Loki nodded, and could not help but look down at their conjoined hands.

   The other man’s cracked lips twitched momentarily. “You were afraid,” he said, and upon seeing Loki’s expression and realizing that this did not sooth him, he added, “In your sleep, you were fitful—afraid—I just did it to help calm you.” The man had stopped looking at Loki now, the thoughtful frown still on his brow. “I ‘spose I can give it back now, huh?” he laughed, placing Loki’s hand on the blanket where he had been laid out.

   Loki watched him closely, daring for there to be dishonesty, but there was none. “Why did you care if I was unwell,” he asked, “…or afraid?”

   The man’s eyes flicked toward Loki several times before he shrugged but did not make eye contact again. “I’ve been afraid before, real afraid, and nobody was there but my own insanity—and let me tell you, it wasn’t a comfort.” He finally looked down at Loki, their eyes meeting, and Loki could tell he was nervous, and reserved, and he hoped the man could not see those same insecurities in himself right now.

   “I’m sorry they treat you bad,” the soldier continued. “You hungry?”

   “I could eat,” he said after some time, which made the dark-haired soldier grin in triumph before nodding and leaving, assumedly to return with provisions.

 

 

Steve followed Bucky into a small room toward the back of the building where food stuffs and medical supplies was being gathered and stored. He had seen his friend talking with the mischief god, and though he knew it would most likely be wise to worry, he couldn’t find the will to. His childhood friend had a nose for trouble, but was always one to handle his own business, even before the super soldier serum. Plus, Steve liked to think he saw things in people—saw good in them or saw lies—and though he questioned himself earnestly upon first thinking this, he had seen goodness in Loki when he arrived on the field with Dr. Strange. He had seen kindness in his eyes—though admittedly it was enveloped securely behind fear, it was there.

   The last time he had seen the god was when he attacked New York. His elder brother had taken him home to Asgard as far as he knew, and that, as the saying goes, was that, or so he thought.

   Steve stood a couple feet behind Bucky at the doorway, watching him shovel lukewarm chili from a castiron pot into two mismatched bowls.

   “How’s he doing?” Steven asked.

   Bucky tensed but didn’t flinch at the surprise. Steven muttered an apology before walking into the room and gripping Bucky’s shoulder affectionately.

   Bucky shrugged. “Dunno. Likely he won’t tell me neither, but he looks horrible. Looks sick as a dog…” he shrugged again and yawned, “sick and scared.” Bucky was biting the inside of his lip thoughtfully, thumbing the side of one of the bowls.

   Steve nodded and squeezed Bucky’s shoulder again. “Yeah, doesn’t seem like the same guy that invaded New York in pursuit of world domination.”

   Barnes huffed a sardonic laugh and nodded. “I wasn’t there, but yeah—can’t make the correlation.”

 

Upon bringing the food to the younger god Bucky was called back to the streets with the Captain, leaving Loki alone to distractedly stir at his food, trying to convince himself to eat. He never got the chance, however, because an iron-clad billionaire rushed him, fists clenched, faceplate dematerializing to reveal a red-faced Tony Stark, skin slick with sweat, and taught with anger.

   Loki watched him approach and though it must have only been a couple seconds it felt as though he watched him walk for hours. Fear and anticipation welled up in his throat, clogging it like a sink drain, cutting off his air. The urge to get up and run was almost physically painful, but he was weak and could hardly sit up much less stand and run.

   Once Tony was in front of him Loki looked down away from him, unable to keep eye contact. Tony growled and smacked the bowl out of Loki’s hands. The now cold beans and tomatoes splattered across the floor. “What the fuck are you doing back here?” Tony stared down at him, but Loki kept his eyes on the floor, a mistake that seemingly angered Tony further because he hit him hard across the side of the head with his armored hand. Loki shielded himself with one arm and waited for a second blow, but it didn’t come. “People,” Tony started, seething, kneeling in front of him and grabbing his face, forcing him to look up at him. “People are fucking dying in the streets, you little shit.”

   When Loki said nothing, Tony grabbed the arm that he’d raised in defense and hauled the man up. Loki stumbled forward, unsteady on his feet, but instead of catching him Tony shoved him forward and he fell to the ground hard. “Get the fuck out there!”

   “Tony!” Steve yelled, stepping between his colleague and the small god before anything more could transpire. “Enough,” he hissed through clenched teeth, eyes narrowed dangerously at his friend. When he turned to Loki his eyes softened substantially. The god sat splayed out on the ground just as he had fallen, seemingly afraid to move at all. Loki chewed nervously at the inside of his lip, his eyes blown wide but downcast, not daring to look at even the Captain.

   Steve approached Loki cautiously, and upon arrival jutted his hand out to help him up. The god must not have seen him approach because he flinched back away from the Captain. “It’s alright, bud,” Steve consoled him, leaning down further to invite the god to take his help. Loki took his hand tentatively, without looking up at him.

   “Go back to the field hospital,” Steve told Loki in a soft, low voice, gently squeezing his slim shoulder. Tony growled in disgust and anger. Roger’s squeezed his eyes shut as if he were trying to physically block Tony’s seething anger from permeating his own personal space. “Go,” he reaffirmed to Loki, opening his eyes and rubbing them with his fingers in irritation and exhaustion.

   Loki looked up at him briefly but did not make any other acknowledgement of what he said besides slowly, stiffly getting to his feet and walking back to the hospital. Steve saw Bucky in the distance fighting whatever he was fighting, but he was distracted, he kept looking over at them, watching the altercation take place. Rogers waved a reassuring hand at him but was largely unsure how much it satiated his friend.

   “How the fuck can you side with him?”

   Steve sighed audibly and turned toward Ironman. “I’m not siding with anyone, I’m just choosing to not be a jerk.”

   “ _Be a jerk?_ Are you fucking kidding me? You’re afraid of being a jerk to the same guy that threw me out a fucking window, but you had no problem crushing my fucking reactor with your shield—a shield my _dad_ made for you, I might add.” Tony shook his head disbelievingly. “Some fucking friend,” he breathed.

   The irritated glaze over Steve’s eyes dissipated and changed to one of compassion. Their relationship had been nonexistent while he and the ex-Avengers were on the run, and after Thanos had brought them back together, their relationship had gone from nothing to emotionally exhausting, and physically strenuous. Steven assumed it would be a lot of snarky, sarcastic jabs, and heated arguments when he came back, but it wasn’t, at first it was formal civility when in public, and the cold shoulder when in private, but it quickly turned from that to desperately trying to get emotional reactions from Steve.

   “Tony—I care about you. I hope you know that, but this isn’t the time.”

   He could see the pain and fuming anger in Tony’s eyes, but he could also see rationality clouding those feelings, bringing him back to the reality that they were not only at war, but in the midst of battle. Without another word Tony left, fists clenching and unclenching.          

   Steve internally struggled with the want to go after Tony, to console Loki, and to dampen Bucky’s probable inclination to _accidentally_ throw large pieces debris at Ironman. Bucky was nothing if not protective of the underdog in a fight. Instead he ignored all three men and went on with his duties as captain; there were people in more need of his immediate attention than them.

  

Bucky scanned the battlefield for Loki periodically as he fought but thankfully never saw him out of the infirmary again. He didn’t trust Tony, not only because of what happened at the bunker, but also because the man was manic and volatile—i.e. not someone to be trusted lightly, if at all. Tony had passion, and he cared deeply for things and for certain people, Bucky could see that clearly with how hurt and resentful he was toward Steve, but ultimately the man couldn’t be trusted and that was that.

   As he fought he watched his back for Tony, for a probable betrayal, but thought only of Loki; he couldn’t get the god off his mind. This was the first crush he’d had in 70 years, if you could call it a crush, though he wasn’t sure what else you’d call it. He’d always been a lady’s man before the war—before the ice—but now he wasn’t sure. It had been over a year since Siberia and for the most part he found most people’s company lacking in stimulation, aside from Steve, whom he still cherished, and could spend hours in the company of. Loki had felt different though, he felt protective of Loki, much like he did of Steve when they were teenagers in Brooklyn.

   Bucky hadn’t been a part of the attack on New York, he knew he had to give some leeway for biased opinions based on experience and fear, but as it discussed with Steve before, the Loki he met here did not seem the type to invade a city in hopes of eventual world domination. James Buchannan Barnes wasn’t an irrational man and he knew much of Tony Stark’s aggression came from resentment toward Steve and himself, not anger toward Loki, but that didn’t take Loki’s safety out of the occasion, so his mind still worried and fretted.

 

That night Steve wandered the blood-spattered rubble which were once the buzzing streets of downtown New York City for Bucky. He figured he was fine, but he hadn’t come back to their makeshift domicile before nightfall as they’d agreed. A gentle nagging feeling told him to check the hospital first but for some reason or another he decided not to, he didn’t think his friend was injured, but he thought he might be with the smaller of the two Asgardian gods. In fact, now that he walked back and forth between the fallen bodies and robots, the huge chunks of concrete and broken glass, there was no doubt in his mind that Bucky was at the hospital. Despite the travesty that befell New York upon Loki’s last visit, Steve couldn’t help the small affectionate smile that quirked at the corner of his mouth thinking of the expression on Bucky’s face as he’d talked with Loki—he looked tired, as he always did, but he didn’t look defensive and sad, as he usually did. He could appreciate anyone who could make Bucky look and feel like that, whether that person was a psychopathic Nordic god or not.

  


End file.
